


A Most Satisfactory Evening

by Achilles_Angst



Category: Lockwood and co
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Kind of dubious consent because uhh Miss Fittes is a bodysnatcher, Oral, Smutember 2020, get yer evil smut here, gratuitous tiddy mentions, not an important one tbh, there’s also a hand job but like, unabashed smut, written for the prompt ‘foreplay’
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilles_Angst/pseuds/Achilles_Angst
Summary: After the gala, Miss Fittes deserves something nice.
Relationships: Marissa Fittes/Rupert Gale
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	A Most Satisfactory Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my awesome beta Stormwalkers, who understands both grammar and ladies undergarments. You’re a star.  
> This was written for the Smutember 2020 prompt for day two, “Foreplay.”

It’s late by the time the gala finally ends, but Marissa is unconcerned. She rarely gets tired, and Sir Rupert will do as he’s told regardless of the hour. 

The wiring of her bra is beginning to dig into her ribs, though. She’ll be glad to remove it. Or have it removed, providing the oaf can remember the way to her room. She supposes that she’ll know by smell. 

As if on cue, the distinctive wall of cologne hits her and a voice rumbles up at her back.

“Going to bed, Miss Fittes?” And he thinks he’s subtle. Ah, well. At least he has a pretty face. She throws a glance over her shoulder, shrugs. 

“I suppose. Would you care to join me?” 

Broad hands settle on her hips from behind, dipping inward In a way that makes a pleased shiver of anticipation roll through her.

“I’d be delighted.” 

She walks ahead of him over to the elevator, letting him get the full benefit of her dress when she moves in it. Sir Rupert watches the sway of her hips like a man hypnotised. Good. 

In the elevator, she lazily slides the jacket from his shoulders, watches it fall in a crumpled heap. The kiss is a shifting, powerful thing, as much a test of wills as it is a caress. Marissa thinks Idly that she’s drunk rather more than she intended tonight, but doesn’t find that she cares. She feels mellow and hungry and just in the mood for a little fun before she goes to bed. 

Sir Rupert seems eager to oblige her, anyway, drawing her in and letting her lead the kiss, tangle her hands in his hair and put him exactly where she wants him. She might even get him to beg, later.

She hooks a leg up around his waist, lets him support her weight more fully. All the running around with that sword of his has given him delightfully strong, calloused fingers, which are currently splayed at her lower back. At the ping of the elevator she hooks her fingers around his tie and tugs, pulling him after her.

Normally, she’d let him feel a little more in control, but she’s a little tipsy and uninhibited and Sir Rupert should know that she’s in charge anyway. Besides, if anything he seems to be enjoying it. 

In her suite she drifts away, pours herself a glass of water simply to make him wait for her. He can watch for a while, while she tilts the column of her throat back to drink. If that happens to make her chest look particularly nice, that’s not her problem. 

She sets her glass down, watches him over her shoulder. He stands in the centre of the room, waiting for a sign to approach. He’s being very good, tonight. The perfect gentleman. Marissa’s has enough of gentlemanly behaviour for now, however. 

She beckons him over without turning around. 

“Unzip me?” 

He obliges until he gets half way, then turns her to face him. He slips the cool green silk off her shoulders, lets it pool around her breasts. Her bra, a strapless black affair, is easy enough to unhook at the back and Sir Rupert slides it from her with pleasure. 

This time, the kiss is like an unspoken demand, full of hunger. Sir Rupert bites a trail down her neck, leaving a comets-tail of pinpricks of pleasure edged with pain. He laves kisses across her collarbones, a hand coming up to stroke over a nipple. 

She gives a gasping noise of pleasure when his mouth follows his hand in a shock of wet heat and sharp teeth. He puts his hand to good use on her other breast, caressing and pinching with those strong, calloused fingers. Oh, this is just what she needed. Sir Rupert presses hungry, reverent kisses over her exposed skin, occasionally sinking his teeth into a spot that particularly takes his fancy. 

She pushes him back briefly, to peel off her shoes, stockings and underwear. Sir Rupert swallows when the last garment slips down to her ankles, and she gracefully steps out of them, clad now in only the green silk of her dress.

He quickly cottons on, ducking his face back to her breasts as he slips a hand up her thigh, rucking the fabric as he goes. His hand is teasing, almost shy as he cups her, before starting to stroke deliberately in an infuriating not-enough slide of pressure drifting just shy of where she wants it.

“More.” It’s half command, half angry plea, but Sir Rupert obliges all the same, slipping fingers up to tease and rub inside her, working her til his fingers are slick and she can feel her pulse thrumming hotly in the join of her legs. When he slides a nipple into his mouth as he rocks his fingers in and out of her, she can’t stop a cry of pleasure. For a moment she holds herself shuddering on edge from just his hands, then abruptly pushes him away. 

He reels back, stunned and blinking. “Penelope, I-“ 

She holds an easy finger up to his lips. He goes cross-eyed and stops talking.

“Do you want to come tonight, Sir Rupert?” 

He nods dizzily. Men are so easily controlled by their own biology. If she couldn’t feel how slick the tops of her thighs have become, she’d feel quite smug. 

“In that case, you’re going to put your mouth to good use on me, and then maybe, if you’re very good, I might help finish you off.” 

He shivers. “Please-“ 

She grins, with all the sharpness and warmth of a knife. “That’s a good start. What do you want to do to me?” 

He makes an aborted move towards her. “I want to...to put my mouth to good use on you.” 

She pretends to consider, glancing at her nails.

“Ask nicely.” 

Another time, he might have protested that, but tonight he just complies, flushing. “Please, Miss Fittes, let me put my mouth on you.” 

She purrs, pleased. “Oh, very well. If you’d remove my dress properly this time.” 

He obliges with enthusiasm, sliding the zip down and slipping the fabric down her until it pools at her feet. Then he walks her back, until she hits cool wallpaper.

Sir Rupert sinks to his knees without complaint, presses a slow kiss to her inner thighs where they’re pressed together. She lifts a leg, hooks it over his shoulder and leans back against the wall for balance. Raises an eyebrow and says, “Well?” 

He doesn’t need telling twice. He’s getting rather good at this, she thinks distantly, as he buries his face between her thighs, face tilted up so she can see the splay of his golden eyelashes against his reddened cheeks. His mouth is hot, deliciously so, and when he flicks his tongue up against her like a test she writhes at the sensation. 

The hard line of his nose shifts and rubs at her as he moves, in contrast with the soft wet heat of his mouth. 

She twists one hand into his thick, golden hair and holds him there, slides the other up to toy with her own nipples, sensitive almost to the point of pain from their earlier treatment.

Sir Rupert does something particularly effective with his mouth, and when she gasps he braces his hands around her thighs and does it again and again and between that and her own hands she cries out and comes, shuddering and slightly stunned with the wall cold at her back and Sir Rupert’s hot bulk between her legs. 

He drags it out for her, not letting up until the intensity starts to spiral into near hurt. She disentangles her hand from his hair, watches him shift back. His cheeks are shiny and slick from her. Not a bad look on him, all things considered. 

He stands, rather unsteady. “Penelope-“

She hums. “Well, I suppose you were rather good.” His trousers are looking distinctly uncomfortable. She doesn’t bother to undress him, merely opens his fly with deft movements and draws him out. She finishes him off with brisk, disinterested strokes, watches him moan her name with mild satisfaction. She suspects he’d appreciate the use of her bathroom, but she wants a bath so he’ll have to fend for himself elsewhere. 

When he doesn’t begin to leave, merely stands looking dazed, she gives him a polite, final smile. “That was very pleasant.”

He nods, still looking slightly stunned. The living really do get very dopey after sex. She pauses again. 

“I trust you can find your own way down?”

At this he starts and pulls himself together, making himself look as presentable as possible before heading for the door, muttering goodbye as he goes. She gives a lazy wave as he leaves then sighs, pleased. It really has been a most satisfactory evening. 


End file.
